“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Saturday, March 11, 2017
Lie Lack
The lilacs in full bloom against the lattice fencing,
biggest by all the grey skies and wet clouds
we had
Dark green metallic leaves long and narrow curl
away from the insistent sun,
now a paling display
in this spectrum
spun towards
Spring.
Those celebrity roses build new spires,
spiders have their scaffolds up,
clovers cover dark dirt over a sheet of pily moss
in cracks, softer for a time, lush was once castover.
Now pollen and fruit gather in groups,
sucking it all in sweet lemon dew
it is the tart, fill those pocket lungs
with rich new air
made just for you, lavishly the last lilac
flake falls.
Painting by Mikhail Vrubel. Lilac 1900 Oil on canvas. 160*177 Tretyakov Gallery via Wikimedia Commons.
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